


What is romantic, anyway?

by TheStrangeSeaWolf



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Adorkable, F/M, Fluff, Leonids, Romantic Fluff, Stargazing, Titanic References, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21536299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStrangeSeaWolf/pseuds/TheStrangeSeaWolf
Summary: The Doctor struggles with the human concept of 'romantic'. Clara tries to explain. Seems she is a good teacher.
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor & Clara Oswin Oswald, Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald
Comments: 9
Kudos: 62





	What is romantic, anyway?

**Author's Note:**

> Riding the train I overheard a hilarious conversation today. A teenage pair behind me. She tried to explain what "romantic" is and he was, well, either a bit thick or he played it well. It was so hilarious that it inspired me to write a story along these lines (yeah, instead of writing what I should write, got it!).

The Doctor was pacing aimlessly through the living room. Clara had ordered him to be quiet because she had markings to do before she could join him for the next adventure. She sat on the sofa and tried to concentrate, but finally gave up.

“Okay, Doctor, spit it out, what are you contemplating?”

“It’s a pudding brain problem I just can’t solve, Clara.”

“I guess so. You are pacing like a tiger in a cage since an hour or so and it is impossible to ignore. What is it?”

“Romantic. I don’t get what it means.”

Clara was taken aback. What was that supposed to mean? Experience told her to better ask instead of making assumptions.

“What do you mean? You don’t get what ‘romantic’ means?”

“I don’t get what you pudding brains mean by that. Here:”

And he grabbed a magazine from the table.

“There are whole pages dealing with the question of whether or not some actors are what they call ‘romantically involved’ with other actors, politicians or other people. From what I read I get the impression that the real question is whether or not they are trying to produce little humans.”

Clara giggled.

“What? I mean I don’t get the whole idea. I mean if they do, it’s their decision and nothing to write about. But that is just the beginning.”

He flipped the pages to reach the TV guide section.

“Here, they call ‘Titanic’ a ‘romantic movie’. I mean it’s a big disaster. Who steers a ship against an iceberg if there are more than enough ice warnings? Amateurs! And don’t get me started on their emergency planning. Hundreds of people drown. This has nothing to do with producing little pudding brains, that’s the exact opposite.”

“Well, actually, there is this scene with Rose and Jack in the car…”

“Total rubbish. Producing mini humans in a car when it is so cold the windscreen steams up? As far as I know you have to be naked for this task.”

He shuddered theatrically. Clara couldn’t stop giggling. The whole conversation was utterly hilarious.

“And in the end, everybody is dead. Well, not everybody, but nearly everybody. I don’t get how this is ‘romantic’.”

“Jack lets Rose have the panel to float on because it can’t support the weight of two. That’s romantic.”

“That’s not romantic, that’s just logical. I would have done the same. Of course, I would not be dumb enough to die from hypothermia.”

She knew that it was true. He would put himself in harms way to save her. He didn’t even consider it something special. She would do the same for him, for that matter.

“But even you cried when Jack died. So, the story touched you. That’s romantic.”

“I told you, I had something in my eye!”

“Whatever you say, Doctor.”

He ignored her giggle and rambled on.

“There are dozens of things that are deemed ‘romantic’ and others who are not and it’s not very logical. Example: watching the sun going down and the moon coming up is said to be romantic. So, I would assume that something being born is also romantic. But when I invited you to see the birth of a Borozathos you were not delighted and said that it was disgusting.”

“A giant, sticky green blob vomiting a smaller red and yellow blob, both smelling like an animal that had been dead for several weeks is utterly gross, yes, and I’d prefer you wouldn’t do that again.”

“See: exactly my point. You can’t get ‘romantic’ right. Another example: taking someone to an Italian restaurant that is gloomy and dark and only illuminated by a few candles is ‘romantic’. The caves of Gan’Thar are equally gloomy and the Thong Pha Than is excellent, but still you didn’t want to stay.”

“Might have had to do with the inhabitants trying to kill us because I refused to eat the Thong Pha Than. And sorry, Doctor, I won’t eat fried rat heads in ginger-mint-caraway sauce, even if my life depended on it.”

“Which you proved convincingly.”

“Yes. Thanks again for the emergency stunt with the trolley and the cake.”

“You are welcome. But it proves my point that ‘romantic’ is totally illogical. It is impossible to tell if something is romantic or not.”

“I don’t think that it is so difficult. But I think your mistake is that you read that something is deemed ‘romantic’ and then look for similarities in the events. But it doesn’t work that way.”

“It doesn’t?”

He sounded genuinely surprised.

“No. Because what is deemed ‘romantic’ has to do with the person you are planning to invite. What someone thinks of as ‘romantic’ might not count as such for someone else. I’m sure if you invited a Lady Bleel from Phark Baharan to the caves of Gan’Thar and shared the Thong Pha Than with her it would have been a very romantic dinner.”

The Doctor fell silent for a moment.

“So… it’s not what you do. But that the ‘what’ pleases the person you go with?”

“Exactly.”

“And you invite the person because you want to produce little pudding brains with them.”

She didn’t know if she should be annoyed or amused. She settled for amused.

“Not necessarily. First: humans might enjoy… gosh, I never thought it would be that hard to explain… we might enjoy the process of making little pudding brains without really producing little pudding brains. And sometimes we are not even focused on trying that, no matter what other species say about us.”

He looked confused. Then his expression lightened up as realization dawned.

“Aaaah… of course. If every romantic encounter would produce small humans, the Earth would be even more overcrowded than it is already.”

“Exactly. So, you might invite someone for doing something romantic for various reasons. You might want to know them better. You might want to show them you care for them. You might want to show them that they are valuable to you and you enjoy being close to them. So, you might even attend something you don’t like personally, just because you know the other one likes it.”

He nodded.

“So, it’s not limited to the question of whether or not you want to produce little pudding brains with them?”

“Absolutely not.” She agreed.

He fell silent and she got back to her markings.

“Ready!”

She exclaimed twenty minutes later. The Doctor, who had sat uncharacteristically still on the sofa until now, jumped up and beamed at Clara.

“Great! Are you ready for another adventure?”

She nodded and got up to follow him into the TARDIS. The Doctor flicked a few switches, set coordinates and together they pulled the lever.

When they exited the TARDIS, they found themselves on a beach with lilac sand, orange waves crashing to the shore.

“Aries 5, short before the suns set.” The Doctor exclaimed and gesticulated to the sky where three suns were about to descend. “I’ll be right back.”

He went to the TARDIS once more and came back with some blankets and a picnic basket.

“What are you doing, Doctor?”

“Wait and see.”

He spread a blanket to the sand next to a big rock and took two glasses and a bottle of wine out of the basket. Then he sat down, leaned his back against the rock and patted beside him. Clara sat down. He handed her a glass of wine.

“You brought me here to have a picnic watching the suns set? That sure is romantic, Doctor.”

“Oh, that’s not all, wait for it.” He smirked and raised his glass. “Here’s to you, Clara Oswald.”

They drank and watched the suns set, one after the other. As it grew darker and darker Clara suddenly exclaimed:

“A falling star!”

The Doctor smiled silently.

“Another one! Have you made a wish?”

He nodded and smiled inscrutable.

“There’s the next. Oh, that’s beautiful. What is this, Doctor?”

“You mentioned that you never saw the Leonids, the big meteor shower in November on Earth, because it was always cloudy or foggy when you tried. You sounded disappointed. So, I thought I’d bring you here. Around this time Aries 5 crosses an unnamed comet and you get this huge meteor shower, even bigger than the Leonids. I thought you’d like it.”

While he spoke, he rolled one blanket in a way it made a pillow. He did the same with a second one. Then he stretched out and laid his head on one of the improvised pillows. Clara followed his example.

“That’s beautiful, Doctor.”

She wrapped her arm around his arm.

“Did you have the idea before or after our conversation this afternoon?”

“I always thought this was a beautiful place. Glad you like it.”

“Are you evading my question?”

He cleared his throat.

“After,” he admitted, “You said that it was a way of showing someone that they are valuable to you, that you care for them and that you enjoy being close to them.”

He omitted the fact that his TARDIS had the idea to add blankets and a picnic. But he sent a telepathic thank you note to his faithful old girl.

Clara nuzzled closer to him.

“Aw, now that’s romantic, Doctor. Do you want to do something even more romantic?”

He looked at her a bit shocked.

“Don’t worry, Doctor, nothing about producing little pudding brains. But if I could rest my head against your chest, that would be nice.”

He stretched out his arm and Clara used his chest as a pillow. He reached beside him and draped another blanket over their bodies. Then he wrapped his arm carefully around Clara’s body. They lay and watched as hundreds of meteorites crossed the sky.

“That’s a thousand wishes.” Clara murmured.

“I have just one. But I have it a thousand times.”

Uttered the Doctor as he pulled her a little closer.

**Author's Note:**

> Might as well be inspired by the fact that I missed the Leonids - again! :(


End file.
